when the wolves come, you must yield
by purinsesu-sereniti
Summary: got post season 8 au: in a world where daenerys targaryen claimed the iron throne, the people of westeros live in fear. when jon snow learns he has a son, he knows he must do anything he can to protect the woman he loves and the son she's given him. even fight against the queen he's helped onto her throne, even if it was done unwillingly. m for mature content. heavy jonsa.
1. Chapter 1

The day her son was born, she was woke from a dream of spring.

Laughter had floated along the warm breeze, the sun shining overhead as children played in the godswood. They wrestled in the melting snow, wolves and boys, while the little girls stood on the side lines, cheering the boys on. Somehow, in the back of her mind, she knows those children belong to her. There's a boy with dark curls and Stark colored eyes, he's the oldest of the bunch. Then there's the boy with Tully touched auburn locks, the second born that comes close behind the oldest. The oldest of the girls is small and dark, she's like the grandmother she's named for and the aunt she idolizes. Then there's the other two, a boy and girl with eyes the color of spring violets and silvery hair that catches the sun.

The first wave of labor pain is what startles her awake and she's unable to stop the cry of surprise, of pain, from leaving her lips. Brienne is in the room at once, the door thrown open without any sense of formality- it's been left behind at the sound of her lady's pained cries. At the sight of Sansa sitting up, doubled over in pain, Brienne knows what is happening and she's out the door, shouting for the maid that was making her way down the hall at that very moment. "The queen's time has come!"

Fear grips her but she swallows it down, focusing instead on the prospect of holding her child. She knows he will be her Prince of Winterfell- they will call him the Young White Wolf, a boy named for the uncle he'll never know. A child born of the wolves, the stories will say, born in the first year of his mother's rule. For one single moment, she can only wonder about the other children she has dreamed of... But then another wave of pain takes her over and the door to her room bangs open as maids filter in and suddenly, there is little else for her to think about besides the pain of labor.

Except for him.

She thinks of Jon even as she's bearing down, birthing the child he helped create. Sansa wishes he were here now, she wishes he even knew there was a child at all. She thinks of Jon as she feels the child slip from her body into the hands of the maester, she thinks of him as the babe gives his first angry howl at being thrown so rudely into a bright, new world he doesn't know. She thinks of Jon as they hand her the baby for the first time, where even now at two minutes old, the whole room knows the truth of his birth. He is a Stark born child, even in infancy he is his father's copy. "Robb," Sansa cries softly as she cradles her son to her chest, naming him as she had always intended, though she wonders if Ned would be more appropriate, given his looks. But the room melts at the name and beside her bed, Brienne drops to her knees, swearing to protect the child as she's always protected Sansa.

She thinks of Jon as she peers into her son's perfect little face, wishing with all of her heart that he was there.

If only, if only...

[ x x x ]

"I have news from the North."

It is Tyrion that speaks and Jon looks up from where he sits in his solar, at first annoyed by the interruption but it fades as his words settle on his brain. He's been here, trapped in King's Landing as he once was trapped at Dragonstone, all these months since Daenerys had conquered it with brute strength. On the back of Drogon, she had soared through the skies, belching flames and smoke until there was little left of the capital but rubble. Those who had survived the massacre now lived in fear of the tyrant queen. "News?" Jon questions, absently rubbing the back of his head.

He misses home, he misses Winterfell. He misses _her. _

Jon thinks back to the last time he saw her, the morning of his departure from Winterfell. She had been so beautiful that day, bathed in the morning sunlight, wrapped in furs. He had longed to kiss her that morning, to remind her of where his heart so truly belonged... But they had been stumbled upon and instead, he had embraced her as any good brother might have embraced his dearly loved sister. When she had slipped from his arms, he felt empty.

"There is a rumor that your sister has given birth to a son."

The goblet of ale Jon had been reaching for suddenly clangs to the floor and Jon curses, dropping to the floor so he might mop up the amber liquid, though it's done more to hide his face than clean the mess. "That is quite the rumor," Jon finally says when he's recovered from his shock enough to control his features. He rises back up, settling himself back into his chair and setting the now empty goblet onto his desk. "My sister remains unmarried."

Tyrion smirks, eyebrow arching as he climbs into the chair that sits before Jon's oak desk. "They say the child is sired by wolves." The imp explains, watching Jon's face for any sign of what he knows must surely be the truth. That the child born to Sansa Stark is Jon's own child, a child born out of wedlock between two presumed half siblings. There were very few who knew the truth of Jon's parentage, after all. "The queen wishes to know if it is only a rumor or not," the peace between the North and the remaining kingdoms is thin and it is only because of Jon's sacrifice of remaining beside Daenerys that the North was given it's independence. Dorne is hot with jealousy and there had been whispers of their itch for their own. The Iron Islands would not be far behind. Daenerys had lost her loyal allies and now only ruled through fear. But, there was only one single dragon to fear, how long would it be before there were none?

"She's also agreed that it should be you who goes to confirm the rumor," Tyrion's voice draws Jon's attention back and his sharp, Stark colored eyes settle upon the Lannister. The man steeples his fingers together and sighs. "I suppose, what the queen knows or doesn't know... Won't concern her." All he wants is this peace to last; he's riddled with guilt over the last few months, the ringing of the bells still yet haunts his every dream. Tyrion knows the rumor of the Northern queen's pregnancy must be only that- a rumor. True or not, the mother of dragons would not take kindly to hearing the true heir of the Seven Kingdoms had a child with the true heir of the North, who she herself has given a crown to. What a powerful child, what a power for the already disgruntled people to stand behind instead. If one wished to topple a tyrant queen, this would probably be the way. If one wished, that was. Tyrion reaches for the jug of ale and pours himself a goblet, draining it in two quick swallows before pouring himself another.

Jon understands the deeper meaning behind the imp's words. Who better than he understands what Daenerys Targaryen is capable of? He watched her sack an entire city that had surrendered, all because she could. _Fine, let it be fear, _she had told him that night after the feast. _Fear. _He had listened to her threats against his people, his family... He knew what she would do if she felt threatened by Sansa and the North. It would take no time at all for the North to look as King's Landing had once looked. Ash would fall from the skies like snow, blanketing Winterfell. "When am I to leave?" He extends his hand out, goblet tight in his grip, a silent request for ale of his own.

Tyrion raises his gaze to meet his eyes and leans in so they may clink glasses. "Tomorrow."

[ x x x ]

Sansa hears the cry from the guard tower from where she sits in her solar, Robb tucked against her chest as she looks over a letter from Dorne. She knows it's dangerous water she treds, even just opening such letters as the Prince of Dorne wishes to fight for his nation's freedom. There are whispers everywhere of overthrowing the dragon queen and though once Sansa would have involved herself readily but now... She glances down at the baby in her arms and knows she's got a whole lot more to protect these days. Sometimes she fears doing nothing at all leaves her son in more danger.

"Your grace."

It is Lord Royce in her doorway, dipping her a bow. As always, he smiles over the baby she holds, warming her heart at the sight of it. Sansa knows now how truly loved she is by her people, for there was not one who voiced displeasure over her baby born from wedlock. If there were any susipicions on the father, they were not mentioned publicly, and she laughs when she hears how they say her son was born of the wolves. "Yes?" She asks, lowering the letter from Dorne, focusing her blue eyed gaze on the older man.

"There's a rider at the gate, a rider from King's Landing."

Sansa's heart skips a beat but she dares not feel excitement. Jon would not be here, she would never allow that. "See that they are fed and warmed, then bring them here." Lord Royce gives her a nod and then bows before he backs from the room to do as he's been bid. What Lord Royce did not say was that he had caught a glimpse of the man who rode through, a man with unmistakable raven colored curls. But he goes on his way, sending a steward down to take the man to the kitchens, so he might warm himself before the great fires and eat a bit of porridage from that morning's breakfast.

In the minutes before the knock sounds on the door, Sansa cannot help but to fawn over the baby she holds. Robb is a sweet babe, though his angry cries can easily wake the entire castle. Peering into his dark eyes, she sees his father, she sees his grandfather. Little Robb is Jon's child, there is no doubt, his Stark genes undeniable. His gummy smile is frequently seen but his displeasure is just as easily heard, though Sansa loves every moment of it.

_Knock, knock. _

Hearing the knock, she jumps, chills racing the length of her spine. Somehow, she already knows who stands at her door. She turns and gently sets Robb into his cradle, hard oak wood carved with wolves and the weirwood tree. "Come in," she calls, adjusting her position in her chair as the door swing opens and the man comes through. The breath catches in her throat, stolen from her lungs as Jon sinks to his knees before her desk. She didn't dare believe it could ever be him, but now that he's here... Tears spring to her eyes as she opens her mouth, his name soft upon her lips. "Jon..."

He cannot believe how beautiful she is.

It's been a long eight months since he's last seen her, last held her. Her autumn touched hair is longer than ever, pulled back in a mound of intricate braids, leaving only a few soft curls to frame her features. Those blue eyes... Eyes he would willingly drown in, eyes the color of the open sea, of the summer sky. Her gown is of gray velvet, form fitting to a figure that is softer than he remembers and he only wants to take her into his arms. "My queen," he breathes as he hits his knees, holding Longclaw in the Northern gesture of fealty. For once, those words do not feel empty, they don't feel hollow.

She rises up from the chair she's been sitting in, coming around the desk, gray skirts sweeping across the rushes. "You're here..." She murmurs as she sinks down to his level, one hand cupping his cheek to her palm, his beard prickly against her soft skin. "I don't believe this," she shakes her head, blinking fast, the tears clinging to her lashes as she sucks in a breath. "Why.."

Before she can say another word, Jon is taking her into his arms. There on the floor, he pulls her to him and holds fast. She hears his sharp intake of breath as he buries his face into the crook of her shoulder, as his arms wind around her waist. Sansa breathes him in- he smells of horses and a campfire. "I'm an envoy now," he grins when he finally pulls back and the laugh she lets out sounds like a sob. "I've missed you," he sobers, his fingertips tracing the curve of her cheek as he stares into her eyes.

"I've missed you," she whispers, tears falling down her face faster than Jon could wipe them away. "I thought I would truly never see you again." She'll never forget that day, when they had hugged goodbye on the docks of King's Landing, she set to return to the North and her crown, he to remain behind with the dragon queen. "Jon, there's something I must tell you..."

Behind them, as if on cue, Robb lets out a cry.

Jon's eyes widen at the sound and Sansa rises back to her full height, drawing him up with her. "There was a rumor that reached Tyrion," Jon breathes and Sansa shoots him an apologetic smile. "It's... True..?" Sansa doesn't respond but rather takes him by the hand and guides him behind her desk, where the cradle sits just out of sight if one isn't looking for it. Jon knows before she says it, for looking at the baby is like looking into a mirror. The child is certainly his. "Sansa!" He tears his wild gaze from the now smilling baby to look at Sansa, who is staring dreamily down at the infant, her rosy lips curved with a smile.

"I wanted to tell you... That day on the docks..." She says softly, tears once again filling her eyes. "I'm sorry," she whispers, looking back up to meet his gaze. Jon shakes his head and leans in, pulling her close to kiss. He wraps her in his arms and kisses her deep, a long slow kiss that he hopes makes up for all the ones they've missed. "Would you like to hold him?" She asks when she's pulled back and Jon gives a nod. Sansa reaches into the cradle and the baby begins to smile and coo as his mother lifts him into her arms. A moment later, she extends out her arms and slips the baby into Jon's. "I named him for Robb," she says, reaching out to brush her fingers through Robb's downy black hair, already curling at the ends like Jon's does.

"Robb," Jon breathes, leaning down to gently kiss the baby's forehead, his heart overflowing when Robb takes hold of his index finger and holds on tight. "My son." He tests out the phrase and knows without a doubt he can never part from them again. He can never stay away. Suddenly, a dark thought takes root, a dark but necessary thought that must come true if he ever wants to keep this child safe. If he ever wants to keep Sansa safe.

He will do anything to keep his family safe.


	2. Chapter 2

It's strange, waking up beside Jon the next morning.

She's not slept beside him since the night he left for Dragonstone, the night the baby asleep in the cradle across the room was conceived. A smile curves on her lips as she props herself up onto an elbow, taking a moment to appreciate the sight of him softly snoring beside her. It takes all of her self control not to reach out and trace her finger along his jaw, simply to feel his skin against hers. There's not much time before the morning call will come and she wants to enjoy him asleep beside her, for she knows he must leave today.

But, before another moment can pass, Robb lets out a shrill cry from where he lay in his cradle. Sansa is up and moving, gliding across the room to reach for the crying babe, tucking him carefully into the crook of her arm as she gently bounces him back into happiness. From the bed, Jon is stirring, the Robb's cry naturally waking him from his slumber. He sits himself up to look across the room where Sansa now stands, the morning light spilling in through the frosty window framing her in the most picturesque of ways. Standing there in her snow white night gown with their son in her arms, red hair a long braid pulled across one shoulder, she is a sight he never wants to look away from. As if she feels his gaze upon her, she looks up and offers him a dazzling smile, one that fills him with warmth.

In the days since his return to the North, he's done little else but plan what his next moves will be. Every time he looks at Sansa, looks at little Robb, he knows what he must do. In a world with Daenerys Targaryen upon the Iron Throne, his family will never be safe. He's not a stupid man, he knows what they whisper in the remaining six kingdoms... He needs no Master of Whispers to know what the world thinks of their dragon queen. "I wish to wake to this sight every morning," Jon finally speaks, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed, reaching for his discarded breeches that lay on the floor at his feet. Sansa laughs and turns her face back to Robb as the baby lets out a gurgle, the only thing precious enough to disract her from the man that she loves.

When Jon approaches them, it's to slide his fingers through the silky black hair that covers Robb's head as he wonders how he can ever part with them, even for just a handful of weeks. "What will you do?" Sansa asks softly and Jon raises his gaze from the baby to her, those sapphire eyes of hers dark with worry. He turns back to the baby and shakes his head, as if he means to remain silent. She sighs and he feels her hand on his arm, warm and strong, the gesture forcing him to look at her once again.

"I don't know," he lies, even though he knows. He knows, he just doesn't want to involve her. Not more than he must. Jon knows he shouldn't lie to her, not now, not about this. But he can't risk her life and he can't risk Robb's, either. "I'll go back for now," he speaks truthfully, venturing on with careful consideration. "I won't tell her about Robb, but it's only a matter of time before she finds out the truth." She pales, catching her lower lip between her teeth as she turns her head to look at Robb. "I won't let her hurt him. I won't let her hurt you." He vows, leaning in so he might press his forehead against hers, Robb cradled between them as he breathes in the smell of her.

"I know," Sansa replies, softer still, another sigh escaping her lips. "I worry about _you,_" she says pointedly, pulling away a few moments later. Jon offers her a sheepish sort of smile and waves her comment away, shaking his head. "I'm serious Jon." She holds his gaze for a long moment before he sobers, giving her a nod.

"I'll be careful," he says, it's a promise, after all... He's got something important to come home to.

[ x x x ]

His chambers in King's Landing feel cold, lonely...

He's been back only an hour and he already longs for Sansa's warm touch. He longs to caress her soft skin and run his hands through her silky red tresses. For a moment, he thinks of her as she had been that night they spent together; her head thrown back in pleasure, her hands clinging to the sheets as her lips quivered with his name. His thoughts turn to his last few moments with her, private moments he spent holding their son while she hovered at his elbow, her eyes full of the love she felt for the child.

Already he's shed his Northern image- his furs are draped over the back of a chair, Longclaw in it's sheath on the table. He thinks of Ghost, left behind in Winterfell where he belonged. The South was no place for a wolf.

_Knock, knock._

It's a crisp knock, a solid knock. Jon blinks a moment before crossing the room, boots heavy on the floor. When he opens the door, it's Tyrion Lannister standing there. "Jon Snow, I had heard you returned to us today." The imp says as he steps into the room, moving past Jon to stand beside the chair where Jon's furs are draped. He sees the direwolf proudly stamped into the now worn leather, made for Jon with the hands of someone close to him. _Sansa, _Tyrion thinks, the very subject he's come to discuss. "I trust your travels went well," he says, hands clasped behind his back as he turns back around to face the ever gloomy Stark bastard. Tyrion can't help but to think of him as such, despite knowing the truth of his birth.

"Aye, they were," Jon replies, short, but there is no anger behind the sharpness of his three words.

"So, tell me... How does the Queen in the North fair?" Tyrion goes on, thinking back to their last conversation before Jon had left. Jon's eyes widen ever so slightly, but then he lets out a breath, crossing the room to drop into the chair his furs are draped across. "Our queen is quite anxious to know," he adds, to which Jon arches a brow, though he still does not speak. _Our queen, _he thinks, forcing himself to keep from rolling his eyes. "I will report to her whatever you say." Tyrion knows keeping the dragon queen happy is not the easiest of tasks, especially not now... Not since she claimed the Iron Throne. He also knows what she will say and do if she learns there is a child born in the North, especially a child born of the wolf and dragon. A child who's true destiny would be to sit upon the throne she calls her own.

"It was as you suspected, a mere rumor." Jon finally speaks, holding a steady gaze with the Lannister man standing before him. He speaks so candidly that for a moment, Tyrion believes him. But only for a moment. "Perhaps our attention should be upon the true problem at hand. I heard about the Prince of Dorne." Tyrion does not move, but inwardly he flinches. The matter with Dorne has been a sore spot for him these few weeks Jon has been gone and has only worsened in the last few days. It is only a matter of time before they revolt entirely.

"I have sent envoys to pacify the Dornish prince and his people," Tyrion says, though they both know it won't be enough. The only true way to find peace among Westeros was to overthrow the queen they all feared. "Daenerys has even spoken of wedding your sister to him, in hopes it will solidify the peace between us."

"No," Jon barks, his tone sharper than he means. "No," he repeats, calmer, this time with a shake of his dark head. "Sansa is not to marry against her will ever again. No matter who wishes it." Tyrion regards him for a long moment before he nods. He should have known better than to speak of such a thing to this man.

"I told her as such. Besides, a union between the North and Dorne does little for us here, not when there is much unrest among the kingdom." He knows Daenerys only wishes to marry the Northern queen off out of her own petty hatred of her. "Dorne would stand behind Sansa as queen, you know." Tyrion speaks off hand, casually even, the words catching Jon's attention. "If they were to know the truth..." He means of Jon's birth, of course.

"There is already a queen of the Iron Throne," Jon says dismissively and after a long pause, Tyrion gives a quick nod.

"Yes, of course." Tyrion backs away and then turns, heading for the door. "But if it were to protect her... You would take it, wouldn't you?" Tyrion turns back, looking at the young man there in his chair, dark curls a mess around his somber face. It takes a moment, but Jon gives a nod. Of course he would. Tyrion says nothing else, but rather turns back and heads out the door, leaving Jon alone once more.

[ x x x ]

It takes only a day for Daenerys to summon him to her.

His footsteps sound hollow upon the floor as he walks through the double doors and through the restored throne room towards where she sits upon her throne. The proud dragon queen is settled upon her throne of swords, built by their ancestor Aegon the Conqueror hundreds of years before. "So you've returned to me." Daenerys greets as Jon approaches, violet eyes narrowing slightly as she waves away the attendant behind her. It's just the two of them now. He's surprised that not even Tyrion has joined them for this conversation. "I thought I might have to send for you, I thought you might not wish to return to me." This is a test, as all of their conversations are now. Once she trusted him, now she knew better. Once, she loved him, now she despised him. But, better to keep your enemies close.

"I have no reason not to return, your grace," he says simply, giving her a quick but courteous bow fit for her rank as queen. Though, she wears no crown, even still all these months later. "My sister, the Queen in the North, sends warm regards." Daenerys' smirks, she knows Sansa has sent no regards whatsoever, but she appreciates the sentiment behind Jon's words all the same. Sansa Stark was only the Northern Queen because it was the only way to keep peace with the North, it was the only way to keep peace in Westeros. Daenerys knows the redheaded Stark girl is well loved by her people, as well as others. And though it was the last thing she wished to do, she gave her a crown, if only to keep the peace.

"I trust you have determined if the..." She pauses, shifting on her throne, silver hair falling across her shoulders with the movement. "If the _rumor_ holds any merit." She finishes, eyeing him with a dark, untrusting gaze. Tyrion has already reported to her what Jon has said, but she must hear it from him. She must hear him say it. "I trust you to tell me the truth, Jon Snow."

For several long moments, Jon does not speak, but rather keeps his gaze steady upon hers. Those violet eyes tell him everything her words do not- that she is untrusting, that she is hateful, that she is as violent as the father that came before her. Jon knows what she will do if his son is discovered. But he won't ever let that happen. "It is as you say, your grace, just a rumor." He says carefully, keeping his eyes upon hers. If he looks away, she will know.

Daenerys holds his gaze a moment longer, but she gives a nod. She does not trust this man, not hardly, but she trusts in Tyrion. And if Tyrion believes him, then so does she. Besides, she has more important things to wory about... Such as the Dornish prince and his constant threat of rebellion. "Good," she speaks finally, flipping a stray lock of hair from her face. "You are dismissed," she waves him away like she did the attendant earlier and Jon gives her a bow before he turns and escapes the throne room, striding through the halls until he's at his own door once again.

Once he's inside, he shuts the door and leans against it, taking deep breaths in an effort to calm himself. He looks up only when he hears the softest tap upon his window and to his surprise, there is a small black raven there on the windowsil. Blinking, Jon pushes away from the door and crosses the room, slowly opening the window in an effort to not frighten the small bird away. Instead, it hops side to side, making a throaty sound that only a raven can. That's when he sees it, the smallest of rolls of parchment attached to the bird's leg. Slowly, Jon reaches for the bird and unties the note, stepping back from the window with it clutched in his hand. The raven lets out a cry and then soars away, heading back the way it had come. Heading back North.

Closing the window, he returns to his usual chair and sits down, his hands shaking slightly as he unrolls the small paper. The handwriting it tiny, but he knows it at once to be Sansa's.

_Jon,_

_I miss you already, so does Robb. He grows so fast, even in the weeks since you've left, I wish you were here to witness him grow as I do. Every time I look at him, I see you, and it lessens the hurt of being apart. _

_I write not only to tell you of our son's growth, but to warn you. The Prince of Dorne has written and he intends on rebelling. He claims to have an army ten thousand strong and has the backing of the Iron Islands. He asks for my help- my army, my people. We have already fought one war, must we fight in another? Fear not, I burned the letter without reply. I will not risk our son's safety by playing this game with the other nations. Not unless I can assure our victory. _

_But Jon... We both know who truly deserves to sit upon the Iron Throne. Westeros needs a kind, but noble King. Our son deserves to grow up in safety, in happiness. Will he ever be safe in a world where a dragon rules? _

_I write this not to guilt you into what you don't want, but as I look at Robb I think I would do anything to keep him safe from those who would cause him harm. I vowed to always protect him and once, you vowed the same thing to me. _

_Write me when you can, and please... Just stay safe. _

_Love always, _

_Sansa. _

He rereads her letter three times, committing to memory every word that she's written.

Jon knows she speaks the truth and he knows she will fight for what she believes in, even if it's dangerous for herself. Jon won't allow her to put herself into any danger. It was as she wrote herself, once he had vowed to keep her safe...

Now he would keep that promise once again, but with little Robb in mind, too.


End file.
